L'amour

Sat at his piano
In the Saturday night concert hall
He sang a song
Or rather he cried out
To his greatest love

In those precious few minutes
He was entirely open
Filled with vulnerability
Among the essences of nirvana
He told his greatest love story

To share with me a mirror
As one might reflect in the morning
To find oneself so so utterly close
To find oneself entirely
In the beauty of the knowing

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for his Collected Works

Out Of Reach

The afternoon sunlight
Falls on the red brick building
The afternoon sunlight
Falls on the old glass windows
I am searching for music by Pieters Vasks
Without too much success

The afternoon sunlight
Makes a silhouette of the trees
The afternoon sunlight
Reminds me of all things to the West
It is Violin Symphony No.2 which I seek
With Distant Light; I want the CD version

I had been asleep
The afternoon nap brought about
By the previous night’s fractious sleep
Which I am afraid to say
Is becoming a bit of a habit
C’est la vie

Thanks to my search I read of Finland, Latvia
And the Orchestra of Tasmania
I read of Arvo Pärt and Henryk Górecki
I was shown videos and audio downloads
In high definition and FLAC
Yet it seems the CD is unavailable

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for his Collected Works

Decoration

The room is in turmoil
Another rearrangement begun
The bookshelves are on order
Old devices, once pristine
Such as the digital radio
Are to be replaced in this time
By the computer and internet

The desk table is repositioned
Which also means
That the print in the frame
Eight Lines, Porthmeor 1986
By Wilhelmina Barns-Graham
Needs to be raised a little

I will put up the two
Oak wall supports
For future canvas prints
Of the Outer Hebrides

Also to find places
For other memories
Which for too too long
Have been turned to the wall
Or taken off display

We did, or I did
Ought to celebrate
Past times
With a happy acceptance
That nostalgia is good
For the mind, the body, and the soul

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for his Collected Works

Same But Not

I am not a preservationist

No, rather I am a fan of change

I have followed this path

For most of my sixty-eight years

Yet, at this very moment

I am somewhat transfixed

Seemingly unable to make a move

Or even a statement of direction

But soon it will be spring

Indeed isn’t the crocus already in bloom

Then the decisions may seem easier

With the sun and breeze to my back

For sure I will feel disposed

To walk over the sand dunes

To lay back and look at the sky

Also to acknowledge the further views

I might even take a break

Retrace my steps to the Lord Haldon

Where the late afternoon's setting sun

May well temper, or encourage, my thoughts

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for his Collected Works

Drift

Cold air flows into the room

Through the slightly open window

It brings a chill

To the start of the day

Which already

Is almost in clear light

The mind is unruffled

Easy in its awareness

Of all things past and present

With some hopes for the future

That a stream might splash

Over the rocks as it travels

Sixty years ago

Yes, it does seem like a long time

A young boy

Happy and energetic

Not quite a free spirit

But open for that to be encouraged

Eighty miles away

Yes, it does sound like a fair distance

Hardly to know a coastline

Or an oceanic horizon

That would have been further still

That would come later

The window is closed now

No point letting warm air escape

Lightness though increases

The double glazing is no barrier

Time moves ever onwards

As I believe was always the way

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Christopher's Website
for his Collected Works